


No More 'Our Side'

by White_Noise



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crowley (Good Omens) is Crowley (Supernatural), Gen, Love that its a tag, Not Happy, The Angels are bastards, They took Crowleys Angel away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-17 00:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: "Why didn't you come back to me?" The Demon asked."Because you go too fast for me, my dear. You always did. And then you left me behind.” The Angel replied sadly.





	No More 'Our Side'

**Author's Note:**

> So I challenged myself to write a story in 20 minutes in a fandom I have not written in before. This is the result. (To be fair, I did fudge the rules a bit. I have written in the Supernatural Fandom before but not the Good Omens one, plus, the first draft took 20 minutes but altering it took a little longer. But still, its a 20 minute effort so its sloppy but I am still pleased with it)
> 
> I have been watching the Good Omens series on repeat for the last week (Its my all time favourite book in the world, of course I would be all over the tv show) and well, I always wondered if Supernaturals Crowley could be Good Omens Crowley if Aziraphale wasn't around (I think its very plausible) so this little one shot was born. I haven't watched Supernatural in years so my characterisation is all over the place and not very accurate but well... I had fun.

“When did your side and my side stop being our side?” The voice asked, soft and yet cutting through the silence.

Seated on his throne, his back to the voice, Crowley stared up at the black wall, eyes unseeing, crystal glass of scotch clutched loosely in his hand. Almost involuntarily, he tightened his grip, the glass giving a warning crack as fine, spider like webs shot across the surface, the broken glass only held together by the King of Hell’s will power. 

“When you died Angel.” The demon finally muttered, forcing the words out as if he was fighting a war, which, in many ways, he was. 

There was another pause before the demon’s ears caught the soft shuffle of feet on the stone floor and the gentle click of a glass, the twin of the one held in his own grip, being placed gently on the hard wood of his desk.

He knew it was a mistake, bringing the other being here. Locating the Angel had been a fluke, a chance by the bloody Winchesters of all people. Thankfully, the hunters had no idea who or what they had found when they had stumbled into the little second hand book shop, looking for something to help them stop the latest word ending big bad. 

Crowley, who had been having them followed (It was just good business sense that this point. Those idiots had survived far too many near deaths for Crowley not to keep an eye on them) had refused to believe at first, when he had laid eyes on the middle aged book seller once he had slithered unseen into the old shop behind the brothers, who it truly was he was seeing. 

It had taken the Angel turning those bright, intelligent blue eyes on him before Crowley would believe the truth. 

Thankfully, Castiel had not been with the brothers when Crowley had swooped in, revealing himself and grabbing the startled bibliophile right in front of the surprised Hunters before transporting them both to his hidden palace. Crowley was not sure what the younger Angel would have done if he had recognised who had been standing there. And recognise him, Castiel would have. 

How could he not?

Castiel would have been at the execution, like the rest of those feather brained, holier than thou bastards, when they had dragged back their wayward Principality and Earths solo agent for over 6000 years, to stand a mock trial and die for the simple act of expressing his own free will and choosing Humanity over Head Office. 

That had been long before the younger Angel had grown a pair and decided to go against his siblings and find the free will his older brother had died for, long before Crowley had slid further into the grips of Hell, backstabbing and fighting his way up the ladders of power to become its King. Long before the Winchesters decided to throw a spanner in the works and upset the balance between Heaven and Hell by trying to stop the final fight. 

And like the rest of those assholes who dared to think of themselves as Angels of the Lord, Castiel had done nothing to save Crowley’s Angel. The one being who could make the demons heart sing. 

Even if little Cas was no longer blinded to the bastardry of upstairs, had he been there in that bookshop instead of wherever the heaven he had been, he would have alerted the Winchesters to who they had found. And then, who knew what would have happened. The Winchesters were not kind to anyone who didn’t fall into their very narrow ideals of good and being an Angel, even one who had fought against Heaven and stopped an apocalypse was not a safe thing to be around them. Either the Angel would have been killed outright for refusing to help, or even worse, pressganged into the little Team Free Will (Crowley snorted at that. How free was the Will when it was forced to be there?)

Arriving back at his safe house, far away from demons and angels, hunters and the rest, Crowley briefly considered setting up a ring of holy fire to keep his Angel from fleeing but immediately dismissed it. He may have been a bastard but there was one person who, with one look, could always turn his hand. And his heart. 

Instead, he had pulled out the scotch, poured two glasses, placed one on the desk and waited, refusing to look even as he remained very aware of the blue eyes watching him sorrowfully before the other being had slowly stepped forward to stand at the demons side and taken the offered drink. 

After what felt like an ineffable amount of time (Crowley would have snorted at that if it wasn’t so serious) he could no longer face the other beings gaze and turned to his throne, seating himself and trying not to acknowledge the sorrow and longing coming from his Angel. 

The question had come out of the blue, startling the demon out of his silence, forcing an honest answer from him for possible the first time since that fateful day when he had found his Angels body, the day he had thrown it all away and turned back to Hell. 

And now it turned out his Angel wasn’t even dead. 

“Why didn’t you come back to me?” The demon finally asked, eyes burning a hole into the wall before him. It was the one question he longed to ask. And with the one answer he feared the most.

"Because you go too fast for me, my dear. You always did. And then you left me behind.” The Angel replied sadly. "I'm sorry Crowley. I can't do this." 

Even Crowley’s impressive powers could not stop the glass in his hand, the vessel exploding in a shower of crystal and alcohol at his sudden rage.

Rising to his feet, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, the demon froze as he heard the footsteps moving away. 

“Aziraphale?” He asked, slowly turning around, fighting the rising panic as he looked at the retreating figure. There was a soft click, like the snap of fingers and the retreating figure disappeared in a flash. 

Slowly, a single white feather drifted to the ground where the Angel had been standing. 

Feeling the pit of despair open up inside him, Crowley’s eyes followed the slowly falling feather. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into the gloom. “I am so sorry, Angel.”


End file.
